Like a tidal surge, yesterday a sea of humanity spilled forth over a levee of fear; and filled the streets of America’s capitol. But unlike the waters that filled the streets of New Orleans, these waters did not displace or cause damage. They rose, yet they lifted. Lifted by the words of a man whose mission begins today. A mission to restore America to what it once was, and what it is destined to be once more:
A beacon of hope to the world.
His words cannot be justly summarized or paraphrased here. They must be heard or read themselves; by every American. For it was a call for us to act. Find them here. Savor them, but most importantly let us fold them into our every word and every action. For they are also a call to be better to one another. He said:
“On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.
On this day, we come to proclaim an end to the petty grievances and false promises, the recriminations and worn out dogmas, that for far too long have strangled our politics.
We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things.
The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit;
to choose our better history;
to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation:
the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.
In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given. It must be earned.
Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less.
It has not been the path for the faint-hearted — for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame.
Rather, it has been the risk-takers, the doers, the makers of things — some celebrated but more often men and women obscure in their labor, who have carried us up the long, rugged path towards prosperity and freedom.
…For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies.
It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours.
It is the firefighter’s courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent’s willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.”
And he called us to a higher mission as well, by leveraging our unique diversity as a people:
“For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness.
We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers.
We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth;
and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass;
that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself; and that America must play its role in ushering in a new era of peace.”
After his soaring call, as the sea of humanity began to part – unaware that there was more inspiration to follow – a woman named Elizabeth Alexander approached the podium and delivered a poem of such beauty and truth and clarity, it brought me to tears. Tears not of pain, but of hope.
She said this:
“Praise song for the day.
Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other,
catching each others’ eyes
or not,
about to speak or speaking.
All about us is noise.
All about us is noise and bramble,
thorn and din,
each one of our ancestors on our tongues.
Someone is stitching up a hem,
darning a hole in a uniform,
patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.
Someone is trying to make music somewhere
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.
A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky;
A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”
We encounter each other in words,
words spiny or smooth,
whispered or declaimed;
words to consider,
reconsider.
We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone
and then others
who said,
“I need to see what’s on the other side;
I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe;
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain,
that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks,
raised the bridges,
picked the cotton and the lettuce,
built brick by brick
the glittering edifices they would then keep clean
and work inside of.
Praise song for struggle;
praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign;
The figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.”
Others by first do no harm,
or take no more than you need.
What if the mightiest word is love?
Love beyond marital, filial, national.
Love that casts a widening pool of light.
Love with no need to preempt grievance.
In today’s sharp sparkle,
this winter air,
anything can be made,
any sentence begun.
On the brink,
on the brim,
on the cusp –
praise song for walking forward in that light.”
